She's The Refrain
by Letter to Miss
Summary: No matter what we do, she’s always there, somewhere. Sometimes she goes, but she always returns. A chorus of a thousand questions. An endless refrain. Complete
1. Sweet Disposition

Sweet Disposition

When she walks into the room, the world stops. Hands go limp, and the pencils they hold slip from their fingers. All words being spoken simply cease to continue. Everyone is now a statue.

She glances around nervously, a blush rising up her throat to color her initially white cheeks a harsh red. We keep our eyes trained on this new alien who has been whisked away to our corner of the universe. For some of us, it is simply because she is a stranger, for others, it is her beauty.

Teacher breaks the spell, smiling at the newcomer and waving her to a seat in the middle of the room. Whispers break out of their shells, as we all begin to voice our thoughts on the rarity that is a new student.

Oliver leans over, mutters in my ear, "how much are you willing to bet that Mike's going to find some way into her pants by Friday?"

I smile, despite the fact that I don't like Oliver's knack at making cruel remarks. He is thinking the same thing as Mike, no doubt. They both stare at her with lustily sparkling eyes; their minds are conjuring dreams of what they wish they could do with her. I wish that I could snap my fingers and take this enchantment off of Oliver. He forgets his promises more than I give him credit for.

I nearly miss the teacher asking her to introduce herself. "My name is Bella," she says softly, face becoming a tomato at the notion of having to speak in front of the whole class. "B-Bella Swan."

Our words become a tornado at that moment. "Bella?" "Bella!" "Bella." The name is being flung out all over the place. We are marveling at how such a shy, yet beautiful girl could have a name. We had expected her to remain anonymous, so she could fade into our daily routines after this day. A name gave her substance; it removed her sense of mystery. It made her approachable.

"We should invite her to one of our gigs," Oliver suggests. The lure of a new girl must be too much for him. I feel myself shrinking in his eyes.

"Maybe," I say.

"I bet she'd like our sound," he states, and turns away to feast his eyes once more.

* * *

**Author's Notes - Thank you for checking out She's The Refrain! This is just a taste of what's to come; around half of the fic has already been finished. I'm looking for another beta, so if anyone is interested, please send me a message! I hope you stick around! (:**

**Rated T for language, may be bumped up to M later, but don't count on it.  
**


	2. Pretty Handsome Awkward

Pretty Handsome Awkward

He is the epitome of mystery. We gave up on solving him years ago. She is placed in the seat beside him, and her eyes widen as she takes in the unshakeable beauty that is Edward Cullen.

He isn't as beautiful today, though I suppose she doesn't know that. He is much more lovely when he doesn't look like someone has shoved a rotten egg under his nose.

Every girl in our school has crushed on him at some point. We all realized at one point, however, that he was not worth it. We were below him. None of us were beautiful enough for him, sweet enough, funny enough, daring enough. After we were reduced to blobs of low self-esteem, we found ourselves when we had the revelation that he really wasn't all that we dreamed he was. He didn't talk. He didn't respond to our affections. He was more mannequin than man. All looks with nothing to say.

Bella is dazed, and more than a little hurt. She's beginning to see his obvious disdain for her. I can't help but feel a twinge of jubilancy.

Mike sits across me at our table. He glares at Edward with a ferocity that resembles a tiger defending its territory. He clenches his fists with the dream that they will be pounding into Cullen's stomach someday. "Mike," I sigh. "It's not worth it."

He jumps. "What?"

"Beating up Edward. It's not worth it," I say.

"I wasn't thinking about that!" he protests. "Jesus, Lanie!"

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Okay, maybe a little," he admits. "But it's not like I'd even leave a bruise on him. I've seen that guy in the locker room. He's got abs of steel, I swear to God."

"I bet," I reply.

Awkward silence ensues.

* * *

**Author's Notes - In case any The Temper Traps or The Used fans haven't noticed yet, all of the chapter titles are from song names. At the end, I'll post a playlist with all of the music featured. There's a huge variety of music, so maybe you guys will get to hear something new. Also, each chapter is more of a scene that reveals more of Bella's impact on the students, and also just going deeper into Lanie herself. **

**I am not a fan of Twilight, FYI. This idea came to my head one morning, and now it's my main writing project. The next chapter will get posted in a day or two, I hope you check it out!  
**


	3. Once

Once

It's lonely in the corner of the cafeteria. I have my headphones in, and my notebook is out. Lyrics are scribbled down the page; some of them are mine, and others are from the music streaming from my headphones and into my soul.

The iPod was a Christmas present from Oliver. He picked me up at the streetlight on the corner after the sun had set on Christmas Eve. I was freezing. Snow was tumbling from the sky, settling on my face and my hair and my heart. I was losing hope that he would ever show up. Headlights lit up the night, and I leapt from my perch on the wall and flew to the car. He threw open the door, falling onto the cement and laughing as I crashed into his arms. We lay there in the snow until our hands and feet were numb, but our hearts were steaming cups of hot chocolate. Finally, he wiggled out from under me, and pulled me up with him. "This would make a great song," he whispered, almost as quiet as the falling snowflakes, and then our lips pressed together, and I thought that I would never be cold again.

The iPod came later that night. We loaded it up together, choosing the CDs from our collections that deserved a spot on it, adding our own songs, and making sure that we didn't leave anything out.

Right now, I wonder if Oliver even remembers anything from that night. He sits beside me, idly playing with his potato chips while staring at Bella, who is staring at Edward's table of gorgeous anorexics. I'm not, well, maybe a little, being cruel with that statement. No one has ever seen them eat, and they're all skin and bones. Bets have been made on who will be the first one hauled off to rehab. Will it be Alice, the girl who resembles more of a stick person than an actual human? Rosalie, the super model? Emmet, all muscles, no brains, no fat? Jasper, the quiet loner? Or Edward? (we all know him.)

Oliver stands, pushes his chair in. "I'll be right back," he says over his shoulder as he all but runs to the table that Bella is sitting at. I try to shove out of my mind all of the things that he could be saying to her. _You want to come to Lanie and I's gig tonight at the diner? You're beautiful. I've been needing a change. Don't worry about Lanie. _

He comes back to me, walking slowly, as if he's sleepwalking. He falls back into his seat, shoving his chips away from him. I take one. We sit there like that for a few minutes; the only noise is me crunching on his chip. Finally, the silence gets to both of us. He breaks it first, and blurts out excitedly, "She's coming to the show!"


	4. Brighter Discontent

Brighter Discontent

"Go on, go on," I sing, channeling my words through the microphone over Oliver's acoustic guitar, sending them cascading over the crowd and into the open air, and the crowd is swaying and cheering and them and I are on the same page. They want more. "Your choice is made. Go on, go on, and disappear. Go on, go on, away from here."

We're covering The Cure's "In Between Days." We've decided to kick this show of with a cover, a crowd pleaser to get the audience excited. They're swaying to the music, and a smile floats to my lips. This is what I live for. Moments like these.

"In between without you," I begin a decrescendo, and finish in barely a whisper, "without you."

Bella is not in the crowd.

* * *

**Author's Notes - I really hope that these aren't counted as drabbles. :\ Sorry that this chapter is so short; I thought that instead of focusing on the scene, I wanted more to show the joy Lanie gets from singing and get Bella's absence across.**


	5. Where the Lines Overlap

Where the Lines Overlap

I'm leaning on the hood of Oliver's car, sipping my mocha, pretending he hadn't skipped out on our last practice and his car doesn't smell like cigarettes, and laughing as he tells me the latest story about his mother's cooking attempts. She melted the spatula to the pan this time, though his last story was much worse. At least this time she didn't forget to put a lid on the popcorn and leave the room for an hour.

My mother was not much of a cook, either. I have never mentioned this to Oliver, though. She is one of the topics that we unanimously decided we shouldn't talk about. I'm afraid that if I bring her up, it'll bring the bitterness, the hurt, and the anger that she bestowed on my father and I back to haunt me. Oliver doesn't want to hurt me. I don't want to hurt me, either.

"You okay?" his laughter draws to a close. "You look kind of out of it. I'm sorry if I made you think about…"

"Yeah," I say, and take another sip of my mocha. Don't think about her, Lanie.

"If you ever need to talk about her, you know that I'm here," he puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.

"I know." I think I know. He's staring over at Bella, who is trying to pry open the door to her trashy pick up truck while shoving her headphones in her ears. It doesn't work.

He leans down and takes a drink out of my cup.

"Asshole!" I push his head away playfully. "That's the last of my paycheck!"

"I guess I'm buying next time," Oliver chuckles.

"You better. The movie theater doesn't pay all that much, and when you add in the gigs, that's hardly enough to pay for my addiction."

"That's why you've got me," he grins.

The grin is wiped off of his face when a car starts sliding precariously across the ice. The driver, Tyler, screams in terror as his vehicle gains speed. Everybody in the parking lot starts screaming with him, all except for one.

Bella is still trying to force her door open, oblivious to the imminent threat of Tyler's van rapidly approaching in her direction. Oliver releases me, and hurls himself towards her. She glances up, and her face goes ashen. "Oh, my God," her mouth forms the words.

Most of me is overcome with horror. No one I have known has ever died, no one my age, at least, and most certainly not _in front of me_. My stomach lurches; my heart races. The fear fuels most of it, but another, smaller part is a morbid fascination. What would it look like? Would her insides be splattered all over both cars? If she survives, will her lovely face be spoiled for the rest of her life?

There is a smashing sound. I look around wildly; where is the blood? Everywhere is chaos. People are swarming the car, and I am left behind, alone, watching over the scene without a clue as to what is going on. All I know is that Oliver went to save her, and suddenly I am crashing. I do not see a scenario where Bella is smashed between the two cars. I can only see Oliver's body crushed in her place. Oh God, oh God…

I toss my drink to the ground; it's a wonder to see that I hadn't lost it in the excitement. People are only obstacles as I shove my way through the crowd to see the accident. This amount of insanity can only mean that someone has just died. I stumble, and have to grab onto the hood of someone's car to keep my body from falling. My heart already has.

"Lanie!"

I whirl around. Oliver's standing right behind me, concern dotting his eyes. "Where did you go?" he snaps. "I went back to the car to get you, and you were gone!"

"Where did _you_ go?" I hiss. Now that I'm not worried about him, the initial anger at being abandoned is bubbling up. "You just left me there!"

"She could've _died_, Lanie!"

"Have you forgotten that you have someone who loves you right here? Or have you gotten so caught up in staring at Bella's ass that you just forgot about me?"

"Is that what this is about?" Oliver shouts, gesturing wildly with his hands. "All I do is _look _at another girl, and you're all on my case! What the _fuck_ is your problem?"

"You said you'd never want anybody else! You said that you loved me and wouldn't do any of this kind of crap!" I scream back at him, tears streaming down my face. I don't care that we're in the middle of the parking lot. No one is paying any attention to us anyway; they're all staring at the doors that Bella was whisked behind as the ambulance wheels her away, though strangely there's only a small cut on her forehead.

"And you said that you could accept me, even if I don't always do the right thing! Who's the liar now, huh?!"

"We're all liars!" I rip my iPod out of my pocket, and shove it in his hands. "Take your iPod back. I don't want it if it didn't mean anything to you."

His blue eyes widen in disbelief.

"And I hope that one of our songs comes on while you're fucking her. You can explain to her just what you did to the girl who wrote them with you."

I leave the parking lot.

There is nothing left to say.

* * *

**Author's Notes - While I'm going to be making a playlist on for convenient listening for the end, I'll post a list of songs so far every five chapters.**

**Chapter One: **

**"Sweet Disposition" - The Temper Traps**

**Chapter Two:**

**"Pretty Handsome Awkward" - The Used**

**Chapter Three:**

**"Once" - Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova**

**Chapter Four:**

**"Brighter Discontent" - The Submarines**

**"In Between Days" - The Cure**

**Chapter Five:**

**"Where the Lines Overlap" - Paramore  
**


	6. A Certain Romance

A Certain Romance

They're walking to class together. The students filling the hallways all part as they come, pressing themselves against the lockers to avoid the crime that they cannot help but witness. They are not official yet. Neither of them has made a statement to confirm the rumors swirling around the school. Are they unsure of it themselves, or are they holding their delicious secret above our heads, too blissfully ignorant to notice that we are not blind?

As they pass by me, I find myself stepping back. It's now obvious to me why everyone avoids them. She's getting the same air as them, that sense of untouchableness. It seems like Bella believes she is one of the Cullens, like she is superior to all of the rest of us.

In her superiority, she is losing us as well.

Most of us, that is. Many of us have gone back to our normal routines. She is nothing more than another girl to us, and we would like nothing more than for her to settle back into anonymity. However, Bella won't let herself sink like that. She's constantly there, constantly stirring up new gossip with her parading around the school with Edward on her arm, attracting the stares of every guy who can't stop deluding himself into thinking that she'd stoop to his level, and breaking the hearts of the girls whose loves she is gradually stealing away.

I have become one of those girls.

I haven't spoken to Oliver since we exchanged those harsh words. I haven't spoken to anyone, really. He was the only person I was close to, and now I am alone. I've saved up my money from the movie theater to get a new iPod, though, so I guess I couldn't say that I am completely alone. I have my music once more.

Every day, though, even with my music, drills another hole in my heart. I see him laughing with the rest of them, going down to La Push with them, trying to teach them how to sing. Replacing me.

I wish karma were real. I wish that Bella would lose Edward, like I lost Oliver. She deserves some sort of punishment for being the accomplice in the murder of my heart.

"What's your favorite color?" Edward asks Bella as they walk past me.

"It depends on the day," she replies.

Questions never have a definite answer.


	7. Right Through You

Right Through You

I walk quickly, head down to help propel myself through the rain. They say that March is a lion; I think that they're wrong. March is a PMSing woman hell-bent on making everybody else feel just as horrible as she does. April isn't a lamb, either. It's just more rain. That's all we ever get in this town. It's dreary enough as it is, but when you add the people into the equation, you get the ultimate environment to induce depression.

The house coming up is smaller than its front porch. The architect must've been on acid. No one in Forks uses their porches. We know that those places are for sipping lemonade, listening to music, and enjoying clear nights, which we never have here.

The police chief and Bella's father, Charlie Swan, is slumped in a rocking chair on the porch, vacantly gazing out into the rain. A full cup of coffee rests on the railing next to him, steam rising off of it as drops of water hit its surface. A surge of pity rises up in me. I can tell that he is a man who has been abandoned. We have something in common.

His eyes meet mine. I give him a small wave, and he nods in recognition. "Hey, Lanie," he grunts.

"Hello, Mr. Swan."

He goes back inside.

* * *

**Author's Notes - I know, I know, it's a really short scene this time. While not stated explicitly during the chapter, it takes place during the time where Bella is in hiding from James after storming out on Charlie**. **I hope that clears up any confusion.**


	8. Recycled Air

Recycled Air

While she's not at school, they all talk about them. "The Cullens have been gone for a while now," Jessica says to me as she stands behind me in the lunch line.

"No shit," I say. We have never gotten along very well, not since she told the whole school about my mother's awful morals when I'd thought it was alright to confide in her.

"You're never going to get Oliver back if you act like such a bitch," Jessica snaps, stabbing my scarred heart with her daggered words.

I dig my iPod (it's _all_ mine this time; I saved my movie theater money for a new one) out of my pocket and shove my headphones into my ears. I'm about to press the play button when Jessica says hurriedly, "Wait! I'm sorry!"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Completely sorry."

"But I wanted to ask you if you knew where Bella and the Cullens went!"

"Probably walking down runways in Paris, hooking up in limos, and drinking martinis. The Cullens have enough money for it."

"I could see that," Jessica muses. If she seriously believes my bullshit (except for the money part, that's all true), I am going to shoot myself out of lack of hope for the human race. "And of course, Bella wouldn't dream of telling any of her _normal _friends where she was going, because we're not good enough for her. Did you know that she ditched us in Port Angeles?"

"No."

"And for a date with Cullen! Hasn't she ever heard of chicks before dicks?"

"I doubt it."

I may not be the only casualty she has left in her wake. This is slightly comforting, if a sick place to find solace.

I hope we are the last.

* * *

**Author's Notes - Just a couple more chapters until the next song update. I really need to get started on getting the music all compiled on a playlist. :P **


	9. Dead Sound

Dead Sound

Bella is a casualty of herself now. It's hard not to feel bad for her as she walks, always alone, through the hallways. Her loneliness is contagious those who were once almost close to her; they see what she does, and they try to push her away, as she is doing to them. It's all they can do not to tell her to leave them alone outright, but her delicacy and charm keeps them there. Only a few stay devoted to her. Mike. Oliver. An Indian boy from La Push, Jacob.

They try to save her as she slips farther and farther away. And they fail.

I want to comfort her, too, but a part of me holds myself back. I know that she had a messy break-up with Edward, and I know how she feels. The bitterness within me keeps me from helping her. I have moved on from the pain that Oliver inflicted on me (and I on him) because of her. The remnants of the bitter are more about losing the music that we made together, though, than losing him. I have Angela now, anyways.

She tried to save Bella as well, and like the others, she failed. She prays every night that God will deliver Bella from herself. I think that God has better things to do, like making food for the starving people or ending the fighting everywhere or at least knocking some sense into the people who listen to the mainstream radio. Angela disagrees, though, says He has time for everyone. We debate this as Bella picks at her food during lunch.

"What do you think, Bella?" Angela's newest attempt to bring her back to reality.

"About what?" Bella says dully.

"God. Does He help everyone, or just those who need him?"

"There is no God."

Angela flinches. Religion is a huge part of her life. It's something she has never questioned before, just accepted to be the highest law in her world. The rest of us, well, we try to be sensitive about it. There's no point in hurting others when the pain could be avoided. I've learned at least that much over the years.

Angela opens her mouth as if to make a counterstatement, and then changes her mind. She's learned this lesson, too.


	10. Is It Wicked Not to Care?

Is It Wicked Not to Care?

When I enter my kitchen, I find my father, poring over a pile of newspapers. His bowl of cereal is untouched on the table beside him. He doesn't even look up as I open the fridge and grab out the bread. Pop a couple of pieces in the toaster. No good morning. Pour myself a glass of orange juice. Not even a glance.

Toast flies from the depths of the toaster with a startling grating noise. I swipe them onto my plate and take it to sit across from Dad. His eyes are still riveted to this week's edition of the Forks local news.

"SEATTLE DEATH COUNT ON THE RISE" screams a headline. On another page, it reads, "GIANT BEAR SIGHTINGS IN FORKS!" I shiver.

My father slowly turns his head towards me. "Lanie," he says quietly.

"Yeah?" I reply.

He pushes the papers over for me to see. There are lists on the first. Accusations on the second. Week one, week two. They are the dead. They are ones who were loved, thought of, remembered, at least, I hope so. I hope their families miss them. I hope their funerals are crowded. To die unloved would be a horrible thing.

I stop. One name glares out to me. Claire Wells. I gradually bring my eyes up to meet his. We sit in silence for what seems like hours.

Finally, he says, "I stopped missing her a long time ago."

* * *

**Author's Notes - And things take a bit of a twist in this chapter. Sorry for the shorter updates, these shorter chapters have more of a less is more philosophy to them. At least, that's what I think. It's entirely up to you to think what you'd like, however.  
**

**Chapters 6-10**

**Chapter Six**

**"A Certain Romance" by The Arctic Monkeys**

**Chapter Seven **

**"Right Through You" by Alanis Morisette**

**Chapter Eight**

**"Recycled Air" by The Postal Service**

**Chapter Nine**

**"Dead Sound" by The Raveonettes**

**Chapter Ten**

**"Is It Wicked Not to Care?" by Belle and Sebastian  
**


	11. Dark Come Soon

Dark Come Soon

I can't sleep. (Is she watching me?)

The CD player is silent. (I can't find anything that fits with my mood.)

We missed her before she left. (Did she tell the weatherman about her having a family?)

I caught them on the couch. (It looked wild.)

She asked me to clean things up. (Did they clean up her body?)

I left the stains on the couch. (Could things have gone differently if I hadn't left the evidence for Dad to see?)

Nothing was official. (Except that she didn't want us anymore.)

I'm trying to be sad. (Her absence isn't any different.)

No tears come. (Are they hiding?)

The only thing her death makes me want to do is talk to someone. (They're all asleep at two in the morning.)

I keep connecting the little things to each other in my mind. (And they don't all make sense.)

It's raining outside. (So that's where tears go when they die.)

It's too loud. (But not as loud as my thoughts.)

There are a lot of things I want to say to my mother. (This is the perpetual wish of the left behind.)

I'm waving goodbye to being awake. (Was she waving goodbye to the bear?)

* * *

**Author's Notes - Yes, I know that the chapters are shorter lately, but I'm hoping to increase the impact with the smaller ones. The upcoming chapters are longer. I need to write some more, though, because soon the chapters posted on FF will be caught up with the ones written! x.x Anyway, thanks for reading! And an especially warm thanks to all of you who have stuck with She's The Refrain so far! I send a hug your way! **


	12. La La Lie

La La Lie

"Something…filled up…my heart…with nothing," I quietly sing along to the music tunneling through into my body, through my heart, causing me to sway in my seat. "And someone told me not to cry." I know I must look like a freak, that I am someone who has been taken into this table because no one else would take me in. This is a mostly truth. There are whole truths, mostly truths, half-truths, and lies. A mostly truth is a truth that is almost entirely right, but lacking just a couple of the small details. I am here, because _Angela_ took me in.

The talk around the table varies from gossip about this week's couples (destined not to last), who they killed to put in the school lunches, and bears. The others I'd expect from this crowd, but the last is slightly shocking. What's even more shocking is that Bella brought it up.

It's as if she heard the chorus's hopeful singing out of the one headphone left dangling out of my ear so I am not completely in the dark about their conversation. If the musical genius that is Arcade Fire has enlightened her from her zombie state of the past few months, I will have to venture out of my turtle shell and actually speak with Bella.

"Jacob says the bears aren't anything to worry about," Bella says hurriedly.

I take that back. I'm much happier as an observer, simply sitting back and watching her life keep on rolling. I don't want to have to deal with getting close to her and having her leave me in the dust for a hot guy, like she seems to enjoy doing to anyone who dares get to know her. Despite myself, though, I speak up, "Jacob looks like he lives in the gym, Bella. We're not all strong like that."

Mike glances down at his arms. There are muscles budding there; a thing that a year ago, I would've laughed at the idea of. For a moment, a flash of pain crosses his face, and it's gone as quickly as it came.

Bella gives me a long stare. "They wouldn't hurt anybody," she says in a low, even tone.

"That's what they said about Hells Angels to the people going to Altamont," I retort.

After people began to talk about the giant bears, I started to feel like I was being watched. I can't walk down my street without getting goose bumps all over my arms. Maybe I'm this paranoid because my house is close to the forest or the eerie feeling that my mother was lost to these bears. I just want it to be over. I want to stop having to look over my shoulder to make sure I'm not being stalked, lock my bedroom door, peek out the window every few minutes, and listening to the news of the body count that keeps on growing.

Bella is glaring now, and she snaps, "They have lives, too! They live just like us, they lo…"

She trails off into silence. It still stings.

I put my other headphone in.

* * *

**Author's Notes - This chapter is longer than the last few chapters, so I hope that you guys like it! The next chapter after this is even longer, so enjoy! **


	13. Hit the Heartbrakes

Hit the Heartbrakes

I'm rearranging my CDs when my dad calls me from downstairs. "Lanie, get down here right now!"

I place The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place on the shelf next to No Wow. It's a shame that I can't play it right now, but as I've been Dad's sole confidant for four years running, I don't really want to let him down now. The two of us have a lot in common, something my mother always resented. She didn't like how we would dance in the kitchen to "Detroit Rock City" while she was trying to organize plans with her friend of the week or the weatherman. (We don't speak his name.)

I race down the stairs, trying to make up for the time I lost while putting away the album. Dad is sitting at the table, holding this week's issue of the Forks newspaper in his hands.

Oh, shit. Not again, please not again. I know that when events begin to repeat themselves, each repetition is worse than the one before. Not someone closer to us. Please, please, please.

"Do you know the Clearwaters?" Dad asks, voice low and even. Every syllable is pronounced clear as a blank piece of paper.

"Yeah." Everybody knows the Clearwaters. La Push is the only halfway decent place to hang out during the summer, and since the Clearwaters are one of the families that own the reservation, they mingle with the visitors quite a bit.

Dad clears his throat.

That's always a bad sign. My focus completely shifts to a fly on the wall. Its wings twitch spastically; its massive eyes dart around trying to locate a more comfortable place to rest. It zips over to the bananas and makes itself at home. I wish it wouldn't do that, but I'd rather not smash the fly's head in with a flyswatter. After watching it, that action would feel very inhumane.

"Lanie?"

"Yeah?" Against my will, I've been pulled back into the overwhelming current that is our conversation..

"Harry Clearwater is dead."

No. No way. The last time I saw him, he was laughing and smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners, as he attempted to teach Jacob how to play the banjo. He never scowled or told Jacob to quit even as Jacob screwed up every chord. Harry just laughed it off. He was like the sunshine Forks has never had; he brightened things up anywhere he went. And there was no fucking way that he could be dead.

And I'm crying now, tears welling up in my eyes, overflowing down my pale cheeks. Harry may not be the first person I have known to die, but he was certainly the one who shined the brightest. Maybe I'm crying, because I know that a ray of sunshine in this constantly rainy place has had the blinds pulled down over him.

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "His heart failed him. It was his time," he says gently.

I shake my head. It wasn't his time. Hearts like that don't just _fail_. He had enough love in that thing to keep him going for many more years. The sinking feeling that you get in your stomach when you have an awful revelation takes me down to a new low.

I've been low before. I made out with Tyler at a party, not because I liked him, but because he was drunk and easy and slurred pretty words to me, and I needed to get my mind off of Oliver. As we our bodies pushed apart, he asked me my name.

I've lied about going to work when really I'd spent the time sitting on the curb in the parking lot, trying to forget myself and what had become of my life. I've been bitchy, selfish, a liar, pissed off, easy, and to most levels of low. But this is a new level in the depths of my wrongs for me.

I am crying harder for a man that I barely knew than for my own mother. I never really knew either of them, really, but she was the woman who labored to get me out of her and into the world. She tried to take care of my father and I for years, though her and I never got along very well. Finally, she just gave up on us. She didn't have to leave the way she did, though, with her screaming and swearing and throwing of Grandma's antiques at Dad's head and sneaking around and showing off her new men and leaving in the middle of the night. I know all of this; she had her good points, no matter what harm she did. But I can't bring myself to feel anything over her death; feeling more over Harry Clearwater's passing feels like a crime.

It might as well be. Am I as horrible a daughter as she was a wife? One part of me says that I am better than she was, at least by a little bit, and another scorns me, telling me how I am ten times worse than her. I don't know. I don't want to know.

* * *

**Author's Notes - The two albums mentioned in the beginning are The Earth Is Not a Cold Dead Place by Explosions In the Sky, and No Wow by The Kills. (: **


	14. A Million Ways To Be Cruel

A Million Ways To Be Cruel

It's spring break, the days are long, and time is endless. I sit on the curb, absentmindedly doodling on my shoe with a sharpie. There isn't much better to do. La Push is closed to honor Harry's memory, and most of my friends have fled town for the break. I don't blame them. I wish I could do the same.

I begin to hum. This is what I do when I get bored. It may annoy everyone around me, but I think it's much better than picking scabs or biting my nails. Today is Alanis Morisette's "Hand In My Pocket." I borrowed her album from Angela the day before we got out of school, and I've been addicted ever since.

With the sound of wheels screeching, I am jolted out of my blissful state of tranquility. My hair whirls around my face as the Porsche zips past me, nearly running me over. "Slow the fuck down!" I scream after the driver, who must have had a shot of heroin or six beers a few minutes ago to be driving like this.

The driver pokes her head out the window as she continues down the street, shouting back, "I'm in a goddamn hurry!"

Her features are angular. Her nose is sharp, much too pointy, Her eyes are a dangerous golden hue. Her hair is cropped short. Her skin is like porcelain.

A Cullen is back.

* * *

**Author's Notes - As chapters posted are starting to catch up with chapters written, I've decided to update on the weekends only. I know that it's going to be a drag having to wait and all, but hopefully, the updates will be better with more time and I'll be able to get more writing in between updates. (I have had a ton of homework lately.) Thanks for reading! **

**Oh, and music update next chapter. :S  
**


	15. Friends Aren't Friends

Friends Aren't Friends

"Where do you think she went this time?" Jessica asks me as we lay on Angela's intricately patterned bedroom rug, listening to music, and waiting for Angela to come back with cookies. Snickerdoodles, her favorite, chocolate chip, Jessica's, and peanut butter, mine.

"I don't know," I reply while switching to the next song, "but I saw Alice driving to her house. I think she might've gone to go pick her up."

"She's always leaving," Jessica complains. "She's always leaving, and she's always playing hard to get with Mike just because she doesn't want to see him with me, even if she knows how I've been-I don't really know how to put this. Sort of but kind of not in love with him. It's really hard to explain, but you know what, Lanie?"

"What?"

"I am just so _sick_ of her!" Jessica huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Bella hasn't done anything but screw up my life ever since she got here. I thought she'd be a good friend, because she was new and all and looked like a pretty sweet person. And look at what happened! Everything that I've been wanting-gone! Nothing! Just completely _annihilated_!"

"Listen, Jess," I begin, but she quickly (and rudely, may I add) interrupts me.

"You know, Lanie, I don't really like you that much, but I feel that I can, like, I don't know, _talk _to you about this, because you've gone through so much of her shit, too. You and Oliver didn't just break up over nothing; from the way he was always following her around, I'd say that she screwed up your love life just like she screwed up mine."

I don't like Jessica very much either, though I am suddenly finding myself sympathizing with her. She was the instrument in the breaking of our hearts. No matter what we do, she's always there, somewhere. Sometimes she goes, but she always returns. A chorus of a thousand questions. An endless refrain. She is what we return to. When there is nothing else to talk about, her name bubbles to our lips. We can trace our heartbreaks of our high school lives back to her. That beautiful girl. Bella.

Angela comes in with the cookies, and I'm relieved by her arrival. I don't want to have to answer Jessica, because I don't know what to say. I'm over Oliver. I've been over him for a long time, but she doesn't want to forget him. Jessica has trouble forgetting a lot of things.

I take a bite out of a peanut butter cookie. Jessica's bony hand reaches in for chocolate chip. Angela grabs a snickerdoodle for herself. The stereo plays, "I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did. It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live. 'Cause what's so simple in the moonlight by the morning never is." Conor Oberst's quavering voice and his acoustic guitar is the only noise in the room besides our chewing.

"Hey, Jess, I saw Mike looking at you the other day," Angela says, and the conversation roars back to life.

* * *

**Author's Notes - Here's the playlist:**

**Chapter Eleven**

**"Dark Come Soon" by Tegan & Sara**

**Chapter Twelve**

**"La La Lie" by Jack's Mannequin**

**"Wake Up" by Arcade Fire**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**"Hit the Heartbrakes" by Black Kids**

**"Detroit Rock City" by KISS**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**"A Million Ways To Be Cruel" by OK Go**

**"Hand In My Pocket" by Alanis Morisette**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**"Friends Aren't Friends" by Light FM**

**"Lua" by Bright Eyes**

**And there's an updated songlist, enjoy! On another note, I've really been looking for some good, solid concrit on this fic. If anyone would be kind enough as to leave a piece of concrit, it'd be greatly appreciated. I'll make sure to consider all of your suggestions. (: And as always, thanks for reading!  
**


	16. What I'm Trying To Say

What I'm Trying To Say

Dad is slumped in front of the TV, an empty bottle clutched in his left hand. His body rises and falls steadily as he sleeps. It is the only time he can find peace. I know that he said that Mom's death didn't affect him; the only thing he lost was the chance of her coming back.

I think that's the worst part for him. To know that he has no chance of ever waking up with her lying next to him again, that he will never be able to see what her life became without us. The loss of hope is more than the loss of her.

The bottle is something I am learning to live with. Dad asked me if I could let him take a few days to deal with things. Those days became weeks and the weeks became months. He tries to limit himself, but when something bad comes into his life, so does the beer.

I don't want this. I don't want to know that once I leave, my dad will lose himself completely. I can't stay in this town, though, not with the memories of days past haunting me in all of Forks's corners. At the same time, however, I can't leave. Dad's sanity is too fragile a thing to be left alone to its own devices. My heart breaks to know that I may end up breaking his.

I try not to look at my father, and watch the TV instead. I have no idea what movie is on. A thin, blonde woman is slowly easing off her bathrobe, speaking to a man lying in the bed behind her. She speaks of true love. And then she reminds him not to let his wife know about their scandalous relationship. I get up and turn off the TV. This hits too close to home.

_Riiiiiiiiing! Riiiiiiiiiing! _I jump, startled out of my thoughts. "Holy shit," I mutter. This happens to me a lot. The phone is the prime antagonist when I am thinking. It frequently breaks my train of thought and makes me lose my place in my mind's workings.

Grudgingly, I get up off the floor and pick up the phone. "Hello?" I say into the receiver.

"Lanie?"

I freeze up. I have avoided having to hear this voice for years. When our songs faded away, so did his existence. Things were so much easier that way. You can forget things that aren't there.

"Yeah?" I'm on my guard now. I am a bug zapper, and I will let no flies of his get into my head.

"How's it going?" You are poison.

"Well, it's been okay."

"Really?" I say, hoping that he notices my heavy sarcasm.

"Really."

"So, um, why'd you call?" I hate this awkwardness. I hate it more than acknowledging that he is alive again.

"Well, I started thinking about what I said, you know, um, the last time we talked," Oliver says carefully, "and I think that things really could've ended better than they did."

"No shit." I think that I use that phrase way too much.

"Er, yeah," he laughs nervously. "So, I kinda called, because I wanted to know if we could start over."

"Sorry, Oliver," I snap, "but I am _not _going through any of that again."

"I know, Lanie," he sounds slightly exasperated now, "I'm not expecting you to."

"What do you expect us to be now, then? Ex's? Enemies? Acquaintances of the lowest degree?"

"I just want to be friends."

"Really?" I'm not being sarcastic this time.

"Yeah, really," he chuckles a little bit. "I know that you aren't going to forgive me for all of the shit that I said, and that's okay, 'cause I'm not going to forgive you, either. But I'm just hoping we can move on, you know? Like forget it and just be able to laugh and talk and hang out like we used to."

One part of me is ecstatic. It's the part that yearned for having my old friend back, the part that made me cry over losing him for weeks, and the part that knew the best of love. The other part of me is skeptical. My cynical side thinks that he is trying to come back to me, because he finally realized that Bella will never care about him. And why should she want to love a smoking, straying, coffee stealing guy who "forgets" to get his hair cut when she has the perfect (and yet so frigid) Edward Cullen?

"Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"This doesn't have anything to do with Bella, right?"

He doesn't reply.

I wait for minutes-I don't know how many-for him to say something. It's so unlike Oliver. He's very quick to respond to anything, IMs, words, job offers, you name it. The bizarreness of all of this is killing me. Where did he go? Did his mom call him to clean up another one of her messes? Did he put me on hold to talk to someone else for a moment?

It takes me a while longer to realize that he has hung up.

* * *

**Author's Notes - I had to go through loads of songs to find one with the right title for this chapter. I know that I usually save this for playlist chapters, but the album this song comes from is absolutely amazing! Just take a listen to Set Yourself On Fire by Stars, and you'll have your entire view on music changed. Trust me.**

**Also, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. While Oliver is a bit of an ass, I really like writing his character. In the words of Shrek, he's an onion. So many layers, but yet Lanie still hasn't even made it under the first few. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading this chapter of She's The Refrain!  
**


	17. Unattainable

Unattainable

Mike and I are perched on the hood of his car, pretending to sip at cans of soda. He gazes longingly at the auburn haired waif as she glides down the stairs with her constant marble companion at her side. Their hands are joined; fingers intertwined as he pulls her down the final few steps and into his arms. Edward whispers something in her ear, and her pretty face is overcome by an ugly expression. He murmurs something more, and her grimace morphs into a dazzling smile.

Mike scowls at this, and he crushes his Coke can in his callused hands and hurls it on the pavement. It bounces a few feet, hits the ground, rolls to a stop. He shows no satisfaction at this. Her delight in Edward's touch has poisoned Mike's exuberance in his strength. Mike puts his head in his hands, moaning softly. I say nothing, and let him wallow for a few minutes. He will speak to me if he wants to.

Bella lets Edward lead her to rusty, red pickup. Her eyes sparkle as his arm brushes her breast as he buckles her in. She says something, and Edward's whole body stiffens. She doesn't notice his distaste; yearning is displayed on her face like a gorgeous product in a store window. Hope overshadows the negativity.

They kiss quickly, and Edward climbs into the driver's side. We watch the couple's lips mash together again as they sit in the car. Bella's tongue begins to make an appearance, but Edward, obviously the director of the film of their romance, cuts the scene short by pulling away. He carefully shuts the car door as she sulks, and then casually cruises out of the parking lot.

Mike turns to me at last, his eyes resigning in defeat. "Lanie," he sighs, "I did everything."

"I know," I reply, because I do not know what else to say.

"I kept my grades up to be in the same advanced classes as her," Mike says quietly, staring unseeingly at the exit where the pair drove away through.

"Mike."

"I started going to the gym. I figured that she liked Cullen, because he's strong and looks ten times better than any normal guy in our grade. So I started working out. I lifted my weights," his voices breaks, and then returns louder and stronger. "I lifted and ran for hours every day. I fucking _whipped _my body into shape just so that she would notice me. And do you know what she said?"

"What?" I whisper. Should I know this?

Mike's pain is becoming too much to handle. His hands are trembling. He closes his eyes, and lets out a long sigh. He looks so much like my father at this moment that I almost say, "I'm sorry, Dad."

"She asked me if I got a hair cut. A fucking hair cut. It hurt so bad. I did all of that, and she just brushed me off. It was like I was just an annoying kid that she would say anything to get rid of. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was nothing. And so I went home, piled my weights in the car, drove to the Cullens' house, because it was empty since they were in goddamn Italy or something like that, and threw the weights through their windows. But I couldn't leave them there. Some cop might've heard the noise and found out that I'd been the one to wreck the house. I had to go back; I was going to get killed, otherwise."

"I drove back at three in the morning. The whole town was completely silent except for the rain hitting the houses and the pavement and me and my car. This place looked dead. All of the lights in all of the houses were off, and I just felt like I shouldn't turn on my headlights, because it would be disturbing the peace of our late night ghost town, so I drove by the light of the streetlights, and even when I went down the road to the Cullens' house, I kept them off. The idea of lighting up the way was so wrong to me at the time. I almost hit a deer, a few trees, and the side of the house, but I still didn't turn on the headlights."

"After I got there, I climbed out of the car and just stared up at the monstrosity for a while. When I'd thrown my weights through the windows, I hadn't bothered to look at the place. There was glass all over the ground, and rain blew through the empty window frames. If the rest of the town was a ghost town, this was Dracula's castle. I realized that if the Cullens came back, they'd notice the broken windows and ruined furniture. But I didn't really care. He deserved it. The shattered windows were just my small revenge against all of the misery that he put me through, and I was just back to get my weights, because I couldn't just leave them for Cullen to take."

"I think that Bella put you through it, too, Mike," I interject. I don't think that Edward should shoulder the full blame for Mike's pain. Bella was the one who had rejected him, shown him that no matter what he did, she would never open her eyes enough to care. Of course, Mike has never opened his, either. Jessica has been waiting for him. And like everyone, she has yet to think of other possibilities besides what she's been set on for years.

"No," he says firmly. "She just couldn't see past Cullen's perfect face."

"So you're saying she's shallow."

"No."

"If she wasn't shallow, she would've noticed that there is nothing behind Edward's good looks, and that he is as frigid as the frozen sections in the grocery store."

"I don't really know what to say to that."

"That's because it's the closest thing to the truth."

"I'm not really sure. Sometimes I think that you can't just get told the truth. Like, you have to go out and find your _own _truth. No one should dictate what you believe. It's like when a guy on TV tells you that his air freshener is ten times better than the other brands of air freshener. You can't really trust what he says unless you try it out. Answers don't just come to you. You go to them."

"But you can't always go out and get your own answers. Sometimes the only way to take it is to listen to somebody else. Every once in a while, they might have better truths than you."

"That's possible, but I think it's much better to come up with your own ideas. It's something that most people seem to not know how to do, hell, I doubt even half of Forks High School thinks for themselves.

"I'm sorry for sounding like a bitch, but you do realize that you've been aiming for _Bella's _idea of a perfect guy, not following your own ideal of yourself, right?"

"I know. And I hate it, but I can't stop myself from doing it. I've been living like this for so long that I don't know any other way to live. I don't know how to let go. I never have. It's just me."

I sit and stare at him for a long time. He avoids my eyes, and toys with the threads on his jacket. I do believe in some of what he says, about finding your own answers, but I believe that sometimes you have to put faith in other people, even if it will end up destroying your heart. Sometimes your own answers are even worse than theirs.

"So what happened next?" I switch the subject back.

"After looking over the damage that I'd done for about a half hour, I finally worked up the guts to go inside. All of the furniture was covered with white sheets. Dust had settled over the floor and in the creases of the fabric. Every step that I took was taken slowly and carefully; I had the sensation that something was hiding somewhere in all of the darkness and white fabric, and it was waiting for me to let my guard down so it could take me down and shred me to pieces."

"And it was in this way that I snuck through the empty house. Always keeping watch, never letting a floorboard creak. I would take the utmost care in lifting up my weights. The process was slow and tiring. As I grabbed the last one, a little bit of light was coming in through the frames. There was no beautiful sunrise, like you'd see in any other place but here. It was just grey and rainy."

"It was then that I realized that if my parents got up and saw my empty bed, I'd be so fucking dead. Almost as dead as I'd have been had the cops found my weights. I ran out of the house as fast as I could; my heart was pounding out of my chest. The house glared down at me while I jumped into my car. I floored it and got the hell out of there."

"And that's it?"

"No, that's just one story."

"So that's not it?"

"There's not just an _it_, Lanie. There's always something more."

We sit in silence for a while longer, mulling over our conversation. Does he think she's really worth it? Why did he tell me about this? What did the Cullens say when they came home? What is the _more _to his story?

After a few minutes, Mike gets up to leave.

As he's walking away, I call after him, "Do you think you can let her go?"

"Do you think _any_ of us can?"

* * *

**Author's Notes - A little late on updating, sorry. Anyway, I'm sorry for the more dialogue driven chapters lately. The next few chapters have less, though, so I hope that's a relief for you guys. (:**

**And as always, thanks for checking out She's The Refrain!  
**


	18. Take Me To The Riot

Take Me To The Riot

As I gaze out the window of the bus, things seem to be eerily quiet. Nobody is shouting; nobody is screaming. There are no catfights. There is no teasing. No one is singing, though I'd love to break out into the song stuck in my head: "Karma Police." The pair in the seat in front of me is sitting with their heads bowed together, murmuring urgent whispers. I am focused on tuning them out; I've been trying not to concern myself with the trivial gossip going around the school. I only have to suffer another month in this place, and then it'll be freedom.

Ah, freedom. I've been trying to discover the sound of it. Is it the bouncing, rebellious tune of The Ramones? The classic Velvet Underground? Or is it _all _of the music? By stepping out of the norm and pursuing their passion for their art, the musicians all over who create the melodies flowing through the hearts of people around the world are defining this liberty that has evaded me for all of these years. It's hanging right over my head; soon, though, soon this'll be over.

Fragments of the whispered exchange make their way into my ears. "After school," the blonde girl says excitedly.

"Not sure…laugh about," the auburn haired boy's sentence isn't completely available for my listening pleasure. What a shame.

"All…shit she's…through, she…" the girl says contemptuously.

"But still," the boy insists.

A shiver travels up my spine. Nobody would bother to talk about anything good happening to somebody else. "The parking lot," she says.

"Yeah, the parking lot," he replies.

The parking lot. Whether the event be tragic or sappily cute, I must bear witness. It's on my way out of school. I have no choice.

Sometimes I wish I could just blind myself to the outside world. Life would be so much simpler.

* * *

**Author's Notes - Sorry for the late update. I spent the weekend in Chicago and wasn't able to post this chapter until tonight. I managed to get a one-shot up, but no She's The Refrain! So, yeah. Sorry about that. I hope this was alright. **

**Thanks for reading! (:  
**


	19. Kissing The Lipless

Kissing The Lipless

Her head is in her hands, and her whole being trembles as she is sobbing. Her body heaves with each gasp for air as insults are shot into the air around her. They drill mercilessly into her fragile head, crushing her with each carelessly chosen word. "Mutt." "Bloodsucker." "Pup." "Fairy." Each syllable enunciated hurts even more, because the harsh invective is not directed towards her, but between the two men in front of her. "Stop it!" she wails, eyes screwed shut, and small hands clutched over her ears.

She doesn't see the pale one roll his eyes at her desperate plea, or the dark one avert his eyes from her agony.

She is blind to all but the most obvious of things. Jacob's dark eyes glinting dangerously are hidden to her concealed eyes. The edge to Edward's voice when he tells her that it'll all be over soon is missed. She only hears the hope that time is running out for the quarrel in front of her. She hears the roar of the train that is the lie of the light at the end of the tunnel.

Mike approaches her from behind.

She is oblivious to this, too.

He bends over her and gently removes her hands from her ears. He has not been working on moving on; he never promised to. Letting her go is just another insane idea to Mike. It's one of those things that he groups in with crazy talk, like werewolves and vampires.

He has never wanted anyone this badly, and his wholehearted desire is propelling him forward as he whispers in her ear. Her weeping doesn't cease, if anything, the volume of her cries has only increased. He repeats his words, only louder this time. "You could leave, Bella," he says.

She slowly brings her eyes to meet his. Mike does not see the fear that is harbored there. He only sees the hope that maybe, just maybe, the girl he has been pining for has finally noticed him. He smiles at her, and he holds his hand out for her to take. To Bella, it is the epitome of broken promises. Why is it not the marble hand of Edward, or the tanned hand of Jacob extended for her to take?

She looks back down at her own trembling hands. Her fingertips drum on her thighs; she's unable to stop their incessant motion. She is afflicted with one of the unwanted side effects of breaking down. "No," she says, her voice quavering.

"No?" Mike's smile wavers; the uncertainty flowing throughout his features is on display for everyone to see.

They are window-shopping his face. The variety of emotions astounds them. _Oh, the lack of color_! They think this when he blanches, and his features become the color of cauliflower. The only hints of brightness are his algae green eyes, because they are infinite pools of expression. Raw pain is starting to brew there. Whether it continues to develop into something even more terrible is up to Bella.

"Mike," Bella is staring at Jacob as she speaks, "I know where I want to be."

"Where's that?" His smile has completely melted off his face.

"With Edward," her puffy eyes shine at his name. "We're in love. Where ever he goes, I'll follow him."

Mike doesn't comment.

"So now you understand," Bella continues, now watching Edward, "that I have to be here. If not for myself, but for him, for love, for all things beautiful."

Edward and Jacob take no notice of her declaration; they are immersed in their battle. Bella's statement is nothing more than an unmemorable soundtrack to their melodramatic conflict.

Minutes pass Mike by as he stands there, staring at Bella as she stares at the two men. Mike is nothing more than a passing stranger to her; his feelings mean nothing. The only ones who she truly cares for are Jacob and Edward, though she will never admit to her passion for Jacob. Her feelings for him are made clear by the longing in her eyes as she attempts to distance herself from the tall, muscular, long haired teen.

Mike seems to have finally realized this undeniable fact. He turns away from Bella-she doesn't notice-with his head hung low. He trudges away, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He slowly strides down the stairs, but he stops when he reaches me. "Sorry, Lanie," he whispers, barely audible, and as he continues on his path, I faintly hear him add, "I should've tried."

I hop off my perch on the railing to pursue him, but it makes no difference. He has taken off, recklessly driving his car out of the parking lot, swerving to avoid fleeing students. "What the fuck, Mike?" screams Jessica as he narrowly misses her.

"Calm down!" Angela shouts.

"You're crazy!" Eric snarls, and Angela glances at him reproachfully.

Angela prefers to solve things peacefully. Her ideals are commendable, but her actions leave room for improvement. She would rather share the wisdom she has learned over the years than join in the fray. I suppose that is why we get along well.

More students cry out their outrage at Mike's driving. Teachers are flooding onto the scene. They ignore the mismatched triangle of gray scale morality, and sprint towards the tire tracks imprinted on the concrete. They are all in a state of disbelief. The Mike they know would never do such a thing! The Mike they know is only the bottom floor of the skyscraper that he is. The outbursts are becoming louder and louder. Everyone is asking everyone why he drove off like a drunken murderer; everyone knows the answer.

I say nothing. I will not lecture him for being hurt; it does not matter whether he can hear me or not. The heart pulsing inside him is shattering into many separate pieces right now. His evasion of Jessica by inches is a pure indicator of this. The burning in his soul overrode his senses. Maybe it even plowed over Jessica's feelings. I don't believe that she'd still be devoted to him after nearly getting killed by him.

His options are running out. So are Bella's. Will Edward's so-called love fade away? Where will that leave her? Will I pass through this dreary town someday to find her huddled on her father's porch, face perpetually ashen, and heart forever broken? And what about me? Will I ever actually _willingly _come into this place again?

Maybe. Everything is a maybe. There is no one way that things will be. There are too many variables to twist everything around. Never will there be one true path for me to stick to. The future is undeterminable. It is constantly shifting; an ocean during a storm.

As are our hearts.

* * *

**Author's Notes - Sorry for the late update. I spent the weekend in St Louis and was unable to post this until now. I hope it's more than worth it, however. (: Music update next chapter.**

**Enjoy, and thanks for reading!  
**


	20. Hard To Explain

Hard To Explain

Rare sunshine streams through the open window on this strangely gorgeous day. There are books spread out all over the floor, but none of us are reading them. We're too caught up in regretting organizing today's study session to even dream of thinking about physics.

Or at least, Angela and I are. Jessica is marooned on her lonely desert island of self-pity. Two weeks after Mike's "Earth to Bella" foray, as it's become known as, and she is still bawling about how he nearly ran her over. Knowing Jessica, however, soon her initial shock will wear off. All of the "love" she felt for Mike will have evaporated at that time, and it'll rain down in a thunderstorm of hatred.

"Maybe we should study," Angela says, doodling a tree in her physics book. "We're all going to fail finals."

"So?" Jessica sighs. "I fail at so many things already, so what's the point of adding another to my list?"

And off she goes, tears streaming down her face as she recounts her woeful tale of heartbreak, mental health days, and near death experiences. Angela grunts sympathetically as she adds a limb branching out of the tree's trunk. She is the good friend. I am the friend who finds the same sad chorus of heartaches downright exhausting.

A few more branches. A few more boxes of Kleenex. No big deal. I see no purpose in Jessica's pity party other than to gather up the few acquaintances she's retained throughout her high school experience.

After many more minutes of tearful soul sharing, we all fall silent. I begin to notice the scratching of Angela's pencil as she layers leaves. The hum of the air conditioner. Memories, vivid as if I was within the past once again, rushing back to me in this vulnerable silence. My dad's pallid face as he slid the newspaper across the table to me. The weatherman zipping up his pants as Mom rolled off of him. Oliver's silence as I asked him what had happened. Edward and Jacob's stony wordlessness at Bellla's sobs. Mike's apology.

The silence is too much for me to handle. I pop a CD in, and sigh in relief when Stuart Lee Murdoch's voice singing, "She called me up today. Meet me at the old café." begins to play. Angela looks at me quizzically. "Lanie?" she ventures.

"It was too quiet," I answer.

"Ah," she answers, and then ducks her head down to continue layering leaves on the once stark branches.

Jessica grabs her phone and checks the time. "I have to go," she squeaks, snapping her phone shut and scooping up her bag.

"Hey," I say as I point at her books scattered in a circle around her feet, "you might want to take those with you."

"Yeah," she grunts, and as she bends to gather her things, her tote slips from her shoulder; the contents tumble out to the floor, among them a small, white bottle.

"What's that?" Angela breathes, eyes wider than variety you hear on college radio stations.

I can't speak. I don't know what the pills are, but they look similar to the ones that Dad keeps in his cabinet. Anti-depressants. I never thought that her problem with Mike went that deep-_never_. I thought she was just playing the role of the melodramatic, supposedly heartbroken single girl. All of the sudden, I want to hug her. I have an overwhelming desire to make up for my judging of her, though I'm not really sure how to do that. Could I open my heart and listen for once? God, would it be enough to become a therapist or something?

"They're sleeping pills," Jessica finally answers.

Angela and I stare at her in horror. One thought is going through both of our minds: _is she going to do it tonight?_

"Jess!" I jump up, and begin to put my arms around her.

She shoves me away, and I numbly slide back to the floor. Rejected even by a suicidal fellow failure. My self-esteem has reached a mind-blowing low.

"Jesus, guys," she groans while hurriedly tossing items back in her bag. "I just have trouble getting to sleep, okay? I've had to take these for a couple of years now."

I feel myself burning up. This is the epitome of misunderstandings. I should've known. She's just not that type of person. No matter what Jessica says, she will never be strong enough to take something as valuable as her own life. She loves the rare and elusive feeling of being truly alive too much to give it up

"Why did you need to start?" I ask boldly. Most of the time, I wouldn't even consider asking Jessica a question as personal as this. We have never been incredibly close.

She pulls her bag over her shoulder, and makes her way to the door. I shouldn't have expected an answer; I _did _just accuse her of being suicidal. Surprisingly, however, she turns around. Jessica takes a deep breath, and replies, "Bella moved in."

The door slams behind her.

Angela drags her dark eyes away from the place that Jessica had just been standing to glance back at me. She picks at her nails, and then folds her legs under her. "She wouldn't do it, would she?" Angela whispers, in case for some reason, Jessica is hanging out in the hallway, eavesdropping on us.

Angela is the cautious one. "No," I reply. "She'd never."

"She's still pretty freaked out about Mike, though…"

"Everyone's a little freaked out about Mike, Angela."

"Except for Bella."

"Yeah," I sigh, "and she's the one who should be freaking out the most."

Angela looks away. She occasionally does this; she leaves me to reside on a different planet for periods of time when she is deciding on whether or not to tell me something. I go back to the physics book. Dull, yes, I know, but it keeps me from going crazy wondering about what Angela might tell me.

Finally, she comes back. In a low tone, she says, "I keep hoping for her."

"Jess?"

"No, Bella."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Why _anyone _would hope for Bella Swan escapes me.

"Because she doesn't see," Angela argues. "She can't see what Edward does to her. I just wish that she'd take a look around for once. After she got together with him, everyone else just became second, no, more like hundredth. And he treats her like _shit_, Lanie! I know you've heard the stories, too. She's like a starving animal for sex. She'll do any trick or endure anything just to hook up with him. Jacob Black is telling everyone, but she doesn't know, because she's always focused on Edward! It's always him!"

"I know, Angela, I know. I don't think that there's anything we can do about it, though… She has to realize this on her own. A relationship takes two people to start, and one person to end it. If someone else interferes, then she wouldn't believe them. It'd have to come from her own mind to really mean something to her."

Angela gets up and strides over to the window. She peers out into the brightness, sighing and pushing a strand of dark brown hair off of her olive face. "It's all up to just one person in the end, right?" she says softly, still not facing me.

"Yes," I reply.

"Then love can't exist."

"Why not?"

"Love is supposed to be mutual. If it only takes one person to destroy a relationship, then where is the other? Two. People in love are supposed to make decisions _together_. Just one - no. That's not love. If this is true for all relationships, then nothing is based on love."

I don't know how to respond to that. I don't know, because maybe she is right. I can't help but doubt her statement, though. I want to believe in love. I want to believe that there is still good in the world. There has to be something worth saving in this place. Maybe I've found something that I can trust like I trust my music.

Maybe it's love.

* * *

**Author's Notes - And here is the next chapter, along with the music update! (:**

**Chapter 16:**

**"What I'm Trying To Say" by Stars**

**Chapter 17:**

**"Unattainable" by Little Joy**

**Chapter 18:**

**"Take Me To The Riot" by Stars**

**"Karma Police" by Radiohead**

**Chapter 19:**

**"Kissing The Lipless" by The Shins**

**Chapter 20:**

**"Hard To Explain" by The Strokes**

**"Step Into My Office, Baby" by Belle and Sebastian**

**Thank you for reading!  
**


	21. World Spins Madly On

World Spins Madly On

The hideous, mustard yellow gowns and caps are donned by all of us. We take the experience of finally wearing them quite different, though. Some of us, namely Jessica and Lauren's cult, jabber on about how ugly the garments are to conceal their anxiety. Others silently toy with the billowing sleeves of their robes and the tassels of their hats. Today is the day that we've all been waiting for, and for some reason, it doesn't feel quite right.

Finals zipped by with sleepless nights spent cramming for the tests taking place the next morning. The weekend was spent catching up on sleep. And suddenly, it's here. I am on the threshold of my liberation from this prison cell. This pointless monotony that is only broken by the actions of Bella Swan. She is still the pale, quiet girl that she was when she arrived. I am still the observer. Even though a whole section of our lives is about to end, we have barely changed.

Principal urgently ushers us into folding chairs under an outside tent. The rain mercilessly pounds down on the plastic sheet overhead; it's a fitting soundtrack for an end.

We tentatively take our seats and nervously peer at the crowd of people gathered outside. They are taking shelter under massive umbrellas of a diverse variety quite like themselves. I spot my dad, done up somberly in a black sports jacket and somehow darker pants. His shoes are caked in mud; he refuses to clean them, because he likes to keep their memories preserved. My father's icy blue eyes -we share them- linger over me as his gaze sweeps over our motley class.

An unoccupied podium sits near the edge of our haven from the harsh weather. I don't remember who is supposed to give speeches for today. It's hard to remember much of anything on your graduation day. Today is the day that an eraser gets rid of my life so far, and I am left with a gargantuan blank sheet of paper to start again.

Principal slips behind the podium, and he clears his throat over the microphone to subtly tell us all to shut up. It's a good thing that the technology students figured out how to keep water from getting onto the wires; I don't think that any of the people attending would appreciate a fried principal at their child's graduation ceremony. For some of us seniors, well, our opinions might differ on that.

He clears his throat again. The nervous jabbering finally dies as we see the light of the future only a few inches away from our noses. The only noise remaining is the rain beating the tent like it's a drum, and the rain is the drummer on its never-ending solo.

"Welcome," Principal begins, looking over our capped heads to stare at the parents surrounding the tent, "to a very special day."

"I'm going to guess that you all know why we are gathered here today," he says, then continues with a chuckle, "despite the awful weather."

"There comes a point in one's life where one must make a vital choice. Many roads and opportunities are available to all of our seniors at this moment. They can go to college, move away, stay home, find work if they haven't already, and a countless other things. This moment, this day is opening that world up for them. A whole new life is just around the corner. New people, new places. New opportunities, new talents. New losses, but also new loves."

"There will also be hardships. A life without them would be incomplete. It is up to you, class of '06, to not crumble under your struggles, but to triumph over them and come out of them a stronger human being. Your success in the world depends on this. Will you rise above, or fall to the pits of despair? This is the simple question behind all problems. Answer it yourself. I hope that your answer it right."

He looks over us all once more, and then steps back from the podium. He motions for the first student to step up. Mike stands and slowly strides up to the front of the yellow clad crowd. Jessica clenches the fabric of her robe in her small fists, and Angela glances at her warily. A month isn't long enough for Jessica to let go of a grudge.

"While today is a beginning, it is also an end," Mike states pointedly. "This school will become part of the past, and in time, it'll fade into our memories just like everything else does. It's up to us to remember the time we spent here, the good _and_ bad. Those things will affect us later in life. Now is the time to resolve our high school lives and finally let go of the things that have been hanging over us during these years."

He pauses for a moment, and his expression hardens into steel as Edward puts his arm around Bella's shoulders. He decisively wrenches his eyes away, and stares over the rest of us with purpose written on his face.

"And in that spirit," he looks back at Bella now, and in a tone abnormally calm for him, says, "fuck you, Bella Swan."

Bella's lipstick painted mouth widens into a perfect O. Whispers dart between students. Edward leaps out of his seat; his golden eyes are smoldering in fury. The rest of the Cullens rein their emotions in, and simply watch the scene unfold before them. I begin to rise, too, but not for the same reasons as Edward; I'd like to give a standing ovation in honor of Mike's closing statement. Angela clutches my sleeve and drags me back into my uncomfortable folding chair. "Don't do it," she hisses. "It's not going to get any better if you reward him for humiliating her."

I guess Angela's opinion is nothing to the rest of us seniors, because there is a smattering of applause, and then Principal comes to his senses and roughly snatches the microphone from Mike. He looms over Mike and growls something inaudible to the middle rows, otherwise known as where I am sitting. Parents are buzzing in the back round; they are scandalized that someone would dare to swear in a graduation speech, and particularly that they would cuss _at_ someone. _Swearing_? _What type of high schooler would dare do such a thing? _They are unfortunately ignorant.

Charlie's face has grown to a luscious shade of scarlet, and a vein bulges in his forehead as he snarls over the din, "Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think you are to say something like that to my daughter?"

Mike doesn't answer any questions. He never does, never did. But maybe today will be different.

"What in God's name did she ever do to you?"

Mike leans over the microphone, and just before Principal wrenches it away, declares for the world to hear, "She broke my heart."

I can't hold back any longer. I know what Mike is saying is true, not just for him, but for lots of us, too. He speaks for many members of his audience. Despite Angela's warnings and protests, I get out of my seat. Others in the crowd follow my lead, and Mike's eyes widen in surprise. Has he ever once thought that he isn't alone as a victim? His sorrow must have eclipsed the pain of his friends.

Those of us standing pick our ways through the throng of gowned seniors to join Mike up front. Principal is awestruck. He probably doesn't remember -or even know- what it feels like to be completely broken by somebody; he has been happily married for eighteen years and never dated another girl before his wife. Teenage heartbreak is a foreign country to his balding being. The mystique and strange beauty of it is mesmerizing to the middle aged man. There is always beauty in the breakdown.

Bella is sobbing, and her wails are very much like the ones she emitted on that day not so long ago as her boyfriend and just friend warred in front of the school. Alice is kneeling next to Bella, having abandoned the indifference of the other Cullens now, and stroking Bella's long, wavy hair and murmuring useless words of comfort to the tearful girl. Edward is marching towards our cluster by the podium; Mike's statement and our support has shattered the fragile disposition of his prized possession.

Charlie glares at us accusingly as he rushes to join Alice in her consolation of Bella. Everywhere is chaos. We are truly graduating from the schedule and regulation of high school. Unplanned, unnerving, unexpected. This is the future. This is life.

"Everybody, calm down!" Principal roars.

It takes twenty minutes to restore the peace that was broken in thirty seconds. We fall into silence; it may be the only way to endure the rest of the graduation ceremony. Our minds are reeling too much for our mouths to keep up.

After another two more speeches and the handing out of diplomas, our release comes. It's over. High school. The first eighteen years of my life. I hurl my cap at the tent above with the other now graduates, along with my past. I wave goodbye to Oliver's long lost affections, my mother's leaving and death, the many awkward moments compiled over these years, the things I shouldn't have done, the things I should've, and the things I wish I hadn't experienced. They are over. Done with.

When my cap rebounds from the roof and plummets down to bounce off of my shoulder, I squeal involuntarily. Moving on from the losses and regrets allows happiness to bubble up into the vacant space. For the first time in years, I find myself nearly giddy. I can see that there is something beyond what I've been looking for. I don't know what it is yet, but I can, and I _will_ find it. The journey will be rough, but there is hope. I will survive.

Mike emerges from behind a group hug, a huge grin spread across his face. To my surprise, Jessica breaks away from my side, and wraps her arms around him in a careful, not too tight embrace. "Thanks for speaking for me," she smiles back up at him. "I know you didn't mean to, but really, it meant a lot."

"I didn't know I was speaking for anyone but myself," Mike replies. "Well, not until people went up and stood by me. I didn't know anyone else had gone through the same thing as me."

"That's because you didn't pay enough attention," Jessica answers.

Mike must not know how much more depth there is to her statement than what is on the surface. The ocean is always deeper than it appears to be, but there is always a way to find the bottom.

Mike pulls away, a slightly guilty expression on his face. Revelations are not always pleasant. Jessica chuckles, and flashes him another smile. "Don't worry about it," she says gently. "It's over now."

I see that I am not the only one is letting go today. We all are, in a way. Grudges are forgiven. Truths are told. Lives are changed.

Mike nods and steps around Jessica. He opens his arms wide, and then he pulls me into a hug. He whispers. "I finally let her go."

"Thanks, Mike," I say back.

"For what?"

"I finally let her go, too."

"I guess we're all winners here," he says with a smile, and our embrace is over.

He eases his way back into the walls of people, waving goodbye over his shoulder. I wave, too. Goodbye, Mike. Let's hope that someday, somewhere, I'll find you again.

"Are we going to see each other again?" Jessica shouts to me over the voices of the other teens and parents around us. "After today, I mean?"

"I hope so!" I scream.

"Me too!" she admits in a voice louder than the music that makes the floors of clubs shake. I never thought I'd feel a real closeness to Jessica, but it's overwhelming me. I like this feeling.

Suddenly and without warning, Angela crashes into me. "Sorry!" she sputters, quickly standing up straight and brushing me off. "That was a total accident!"

"We're going to see you, too, right?" Jessica yells, disregarding Angela's spontaneous entry into our conversation.

"Yes!" Angela hollers. "Of course!"

With this confirmation, all three of us fall into each other to form our own group hug. We hold on tight, and we pray that we won't let go, because we don't know when another moment like this will come. The only thing that we know for certain is that there _will _be a next time. Friends like us don't just disappear into oblivion.

After a few hours, all of us disperse and go our separate ways with many promises to call and cries of "Goodbye!" and "I'll miss you!" and even a few "I want my stuff back _before _you move!" I follow my dad to his car, and he holds the door for me as I climb in. "For the graduate," he smiles under his bushy mustache.

"Thanks, Dad," I thank him as he plops into his seat and slams the driver's side door shut.

"No problem."

We drive in silence for a while. It is not an awkward silence, however. It is an understanding silence. We both acknowledge its presence, and we do not shy away from it. The acceptance is mutual.

He pulls into the driveway, but he doesn't get out. I stare at him; I have no idea what he's planning. I don't want to get out of the car before him, though. This silence is morphing into the poisonous type of silence, the one that seeps into your mind and sets your thoughts on fire.

Finally, Dad bridges the unnerving hush. "So you're going to go away soon, aren't you?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," I answer.

He sighs, and nods reluctantly. "I should've guessed as much."

"I can't stay here forever, Dad." And I can't.

"I know," he reaches into the backseat and grabs a half full bottle. It is nearly at his mouth when I place my hand on his arm.

"You need help," I try to say this as gently as I can.

It seems like forever that Dad stares at the bottle. He has to put it down. He has to. I can't leave here knowing that my father is slowly destroying himself while I am off doing whatever I will end up doing. I won't be able to live with myself. The knowledge would be too much for me to handle, and I'd end up the same as him. I don't want that.

I want to be able to love. I want to be able to wake up every morning knowing that I have a reason to live. I want to drink without the intent to forget. I want music. I want joy. I want to dream. I want to make those dreams come true.

At last, he brings his eyes to meet mine. "I know that, too."

As we get out of the car, we remain quiet. No words need to be said. Sometimes they're not enough to get across what we mean. Sometimes we need actions, too. Sometimes all it takes is one person to change a life. Sometimes I know these things. Sometimes I don't. This won't change; I know that, but I also know that I don't have to be perfect. That's not _my _ideal. Nobody else will pen my story. I'm writing my own refrain now, step by step, little by little. Bella is part of my past. I am my future.

It's time to sing.

* * *

**Author's Notes - And here is the conclusion to my Fanfic, She's The Refrain. I find myself shocked that I have never been overcome by writer's block at any point while working on this! And thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and kept reading. It means so much to me. You are all wonderful people, and I'm thankful that you would take the time out of your lives to read my writing. **

**As I promised in the first chapter, here is a compilation of the music featured over the course of the story. **.com/playlist/19160456203 **I hope that you enjoy the songs, and that you find something new that you love. (: **

**And again, thank you for reading! **

**Letter To Miss - April 3rd, 2010  
**


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